The Crow: Promised One
by Tin Heart
Summary: Death comes for the Scourge in the form of one of it's victims...
1. Light a Candle, Curse the Darkness & Cou...

Title:The Crow: Promised One 

Author: Tin Heart 

Disclaimers: I don't own anything related to the TV series Buffy or Angel. If I did, you could be sure I'd treat them better. I also own nothing of James O'Barr's masterpiece 'The Crow' and cannot imagine doing better with it then he did. I make no money off this and mean no copyright infringement. 

Summery: Death comes for the scourge in the form of one of it's victims... 

Authors notes: By combining two series', I have no doubt I've made errors in both continuity and character. I hope you all will be patient with me. This story takes place (For Angel fans) in an AU where there was no Darla subplot. I'm sorry, but I just couldn't work her in. It's not necessary to be a crow fan to understand this story, but it is necessary to know at least the basics of first season Angel. Also, and this may sound crazy, but to combat my writers block I made a few pictures. Just a banner and cover piece, but if anyone's interested... [What would be considered the cover][1] and [what would be considered a banner.][2]

Also, all people hoping for a repeat of 'Couting Down' are not going to find it here. Sorry people, but I'm trying my hand at a serious story. 

Also lets have a round of applause for my beta Linny! Love ya, girl. 

The Crow: Promised one

Prologue: Light a Candle, Curse the Darkness...

October 26, 2000 

11:59 p.m. 

Father Stevenson never felt comfortable with the idea of locking a church. Of course, he agreed with the logic of it. There were places in hell far safer then L.A. at night. At his more cynical moments he wondered if there was any point in having a church in L.A. Even more so with devils night approaching... 

As per his nightly ritual, Father Stevenson made his rounds checking for 'lost souls' who wandered in seeking shelter from the streets. He'd just clicked the lights off and was about to lock the doors when he thought to double check the poor box. The light from the street lamps streaming through the stain glass cast enough of a glow to navigate the pews. 

He'd just reached the pulpit when he heard a faint scratching sound behind him. He froze, had he just imagined it? Suddenly his own shadow filled the wall in front of him. He spun around, but eyes unaccustomed to the sudden light could only make out a silhouette disappearing through one of the french doors. 

It took only a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did he ran through the doors and out into the street. There was no one there. 

Back inside he locked the door behind him. It wasn't until then that the priest noticed a candle, one of many that lined the walls, was lit. He reached over an picked up a piece of paper that lay in front of it. It looked like some sort of card or...he unfolded it. 

It was a picture. A man, no more then 21, 22 perhaps. With dark hair and blue/green eyes that seemed to hold a sort of wisdom beyond his years... 

Father Stevenson leaned closer to the candle, intent on blowing it out. He found though, that he didn't have the heart. He rested the picture gently against it's base and sent a silent prayer up for the man too young to be mourned. 

Chapter One: Counting Crows

October 27, 1999 

Detective Kate 'Grace' Lockley sat at her desk doing her best not to nod off. Besides being a slow day, Kate had been suffering from nightmares. Most of the scenes had been vague but familiar, and it was clear enough who the dreams had been about. 

A flash of light. Angel and that Irish guy. Doyle, she remembered, was his name. They were on a boat. No, no they were in a boat. Faces, all around. None of them Human. Angel puts his hand on Doyle's shoulder. "The good fight, yeah?" Doyles brough sounded almost mournful. "You never know till you've been tested, I get that now." 

Another flash. Doyle, light surrounding him. Burning him. He's pulling apart some sort of wire. Just as it comes apart he screams in pure agony. 

Flash. Those faces. Inhuman, lifeless eyes. They're dead. All dead. Slaughtered. Lying in pools of there own rapidly cooling blood... 

"Hey Kate," a familiar voice welcomely intruded her thoughts. "You still with us?" 

She looked up to see her partner, Harlen, staring at her with poorly concealed worry. 

"Yeah, yeah," she forced a smile. "I just, uh, didn't get allot of sleep last night." 

"Well," He smiled and sat down, apparently buying it. "You could always cut out early. I'll tell the captain you were sick or something." 

Kate's smiled became genuine. She stood up and pulled on her jacket, making sure she had her keys. She stopped in front of Harlen and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Thanks, I owe you one.' she said before walking out the door. 

Fishing her keys from her pocket she stopped just short of her car. an entire flock of crows were sitting on her car. She smiled to herself indulgently and began to count them. 

One for Sorrow 

Two for Joy 

Three for a Girl 

Four for a Boy 

Five for Silver 

Six for Gold 

Seven for a Secret 

Never to be told... 

Seven, it was a secret. Since it was her car it must be her secret. Now what in Gods name... 

Her eyes widened in realization and fear. She ran to her car and shooed the crows away. The she jumped inside and sped off. 

Tap-tap-tap, tap, tap... 

Tap-tap-tap, tap, tap... 

Tap-tap-tap, tap, tap... 

By now Cordelia's pencil tapping rhythm was getting on Angels nerves. He wanted to send her somewhere, anywhere. Just far, far away. Angels eyes floated across the room to where Wesely sat. The demon hunter had chosen to amuse himself by sorting through old newspapers. Suddenly angel wondered if he could get away with sneaking into his office to brood in the dark. He glanced at Cordelia, knowing if he made a move she'd come after him. He sighed imperceptibly and decided to brood where he stood. 

Wesely himself was attempting to drowned out Cordelia's bored tapping by losing himself in thought. So far he was having no success. Shuffling through old newspaper Cordelia had sworn she'd thrown out he was looking for articles of an 'unusual' nature. Every now and then he'd run across something that'd caught his eye, but nothing that held his attention. **'Doctor Murders Police Officer, Disappears.' 'Flaming Man Seen on Beach Dock.' 'Boat Full of Deformed Corpses Found off the Coast of L.A.' **Nothing particularly noteworthy. 

Codelia wasn't tapping out of bordom. She was tapping out of nervousness. Lost in thought she contemplated her first ever callback. It was a guest spot on a fairly popular soap opera. Two lines, but it would still be the biggest break she'd ever gotten. The only thing standing in her way was the casting director. Not that he didn't like her. That was the problem, he liked her alot. He was pretty cute. In that fake, Hollywood sort of way. But the timing was wrong. In fact, it couldn't be worse. _In one week it will have been a year since... _No, she wasn't going to think about that now. Later, tomorrow maybe. Yes, she'd think about it then. 

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/tin_heart/TheCrow.JPG
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/tin_heart/Storybanner.JPG



	2. To Put the Wrong Things Right...

_Authors notes on chapter two: In my attempt to try and perfect my formatting I'm trying something different with this one. Little **** are now used to break up the sections within chapters. _

_Note to Crow fans: Kate's description is decidedly lacking, but it's supposed to be. Trust me._

_To Reviewers: I think FF.net finally got rid of the Fido bug! Please review and keep speculating! It helps my writers block!_

**Chapter 2: To Put the Wrong Things Right...**

The drive home didn't go as smoothly as Kate would have wanted. Memories kept jumping into her mind. Not from her nightmare, but from a past long forgotten. 

A man dressed in black. His face painted white with bleak streaks. One through each eye and one running the length of his mouth. He took from her the packet of drugs she'd held in her hands. She watched as it leapt into flames. "You have magic just like me." He said with the hint of an accent she couldn't quite place. 

The same man on a motorcycle. "Where are you going?" Kate remembered asking. "To a better place." Was all he said before riding off. 

Suddenly, she remembered she was still on the road. She pulled over and got out of the car to better see where her unconscious mind had taken her. 

What was she doing at the docks? She looked around. Well, there were worse places she could be. As sailors from a nearby ship started hooting at her she thought, _But not many..._

She was about to leave when a shadow on the dock caught her eye. Whatever it was looked like a person on their hands and knees. 

Kate hesitated. Every instinct she had as a cop told her this could be trouble, but every instinct she had as a women told her she needed to help this person. She slowly approached the dock. As she did, she became aware in the light of the setting sun that whoever it was, was a man. 

"Sir? Sir!" She called in her best authoritative cop voice. "Are you all right?" 

He looked up at her. 

Kate gasped. She'd been taken aback, not by the obvious tracks of silent tears on his face, not by the haunted look in his eyes, but by something much more frightening... 

**** 

"Sir, you can't go in there! It's a restricted area!" Cordelia shouted. 

Angel just stared at her deadpan. 

"Well?" Cordelia put her hands on her hips. 

"It was..." Angel knew he had to word this just right. "...good?" 

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "You know what? Just forget it." She picked up her purse and headed for the door. "I get better compliments from Dennis!" The door slammed behind her, cutting off any response Angel might have made. 

Angel wasn't planning on making any. He'd come to the conclusion nothing he could say would sound right to that women. Wesley couldn't seem to say the right thing either. _Sometimes_, Angel thought, _it seems like no one can please her_. 

**** 

Cordelia slammed the door to her apartment. _That Angel! I mean, how insensitive can you get? Didn't he see I needed some encouragement? _But he didn't. No one ever had except... 

She looked around quickly. "Dennis?" she whispered. She waited a moment, but saw no response. Quickly she ran to her room and reached under her bed. With one last look about to see that no invisible roommates where trying to get her attention, (where was Dennis?) she pulled out a well worn VHS. Running her hand over the label marked 'Commercial' she remembered the day she shot it. This wasn't the first time she'd been thankful for her stroke of inspiration. If she hadn't asked him to tape it, she'd have nothing left of him. _Because he never had the decency to have a favorite coffee mug! _

Slowly, she walked back into the living room. She was weary of having anyone see her in such a vulnerable moment. Even a ghost who couldn't talk. 

"Dennis?" She called a bit louder. _Maybe he's asleep. Did ghosts even need_ _sleep? _

Finally satisfied that she was alone, she crossed the room and popped the tape into the VCR. She crossed the room again to curl up on the couch. 

_"If you need help, then look no ferther. Angel investigations is the best! Our rats are low..."_

**** 

Cordelia had long ago fallen asleep, still curled up on the couch. The tape had run itself out and now the TV was filled with static. 

Invisible hands pulled a blanket around Cordelia's shoulders. Silently, the TV clicked off. 

**** 

Kate opened the door to her apartment, When she entered alone she called behind her without turning around. "You should probably come in. It can't be worse then staying out there." All the while her mind was trying to wrap itself around what had happened, what was happening, what would happen and her unlikely part in it all. 

Hesitantly, Doyle stepped into the room. His mind was more or less just trying to wake up from what could very well be both a dream and a nightmare. He was fairly sure he wasn't dead, talking to the living person being his first clue. Still, nothing felt the same, felt real. It was as if he were swimming through glue. He felt as if he should have gone somewhere else, that there was someone he needed to see. 

Kate, the women in front of him, had found him. She'd said she knew what was going on. She was going to explain everything to him. 

Any minute now... 

"You should sit down." Kate said in a pale imitation of her usual 'Cop-in-control' voice. Doyle remembered Kate from somewhere, somewhere on the tip of his mind. He also remembered she wasn't always miss congeniality. 

"I'd prefer to stand, if it's all the same to you." He didn't know why he was arguing with her, but he also didn't know why he should trust her. He wondered when 'Cagney and Lacy' Kate had become so knowledgeable about the supernatural. 

He also wondered why he thought of her as 'Cagney and Lacy' Kate. 

"It would be easier for me." She said softly. 

Doyle looked up at her and for the first time noticed how pale and shaken Kate looked. He sincerely doubted the Kate he remembered would recognize the one in front of him. Slowly, he moved to the couch and sat down. 

Kate sat down in the chair directly across from him. After a moment she got up and began to pace. For a while Doyle wondered if she was going to say anything. Then suddenly she blurted out, "What's the last thing you remember?" 

"I..." He hadn't realized until that moment how little he remembered. He'd died, he was almost sure of that, but what else? The tiny beginnings of panic crawled over his skin as he realized that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember what had happened to him. He couldn't remember anything. 

"It's all right, it's all right." Kate could see the agitation in Doyle's face. "It'll all come back." _I hope,_ "It'll just take some time." She tried to sound certain. Kate once again decided to take a seat. She silently contemplated the man in front of her. He was dressed in a red polyester shirt that could very well be mistaken for a stop sign. All in all he looked a good deal like death warmed over. _Which I guess he is. Didn't he used to wear a jacket? _She was almost sure he used to wear a lather jacket... _Stop it Kate, you're stalling. _Running her hands through her short blond hair she looked up and shot him an unconvincing smile. "There are probably hundreds of people who could explain this better." 

"But, unless I'm missing somthin', they aren't here. You are, and I need to know. Am I..." He trailed off, not sure himself where he was going with that statement. 

"Dead?" Kate finished for him. "You were, I'm not sure we have a word for what you are now. You've been brought back." 

"But by who? And why?" Doyle demanded. 

Kate shook her head. "I didn't start that right." She took a deep breath and started over. "Long ago, people used to believe that crows carried the soul to the land of the dead. But if a soul was so burdened by sadness that it effected even the crow, then they could bring that soul back. However you died, it was a great wrong. You're hear to fix that." 

"I just wish I could remember what that was." Doyle barely whispered. 

"And I wish I could help, but I can't." That wasn't exactly true. While she didn't know the details, Kate had a vague idea of what had happened, and the clear understanding it had been very painful. Until she pieced it together though, it would probably be better for him to go it on his own. For the most part. 

"So I do what I came to back to do... and?" Doyle raised an eyebrow. 

"You die again. Well, not again. You're not alive now. You just...rest." 

"Oh." Doyle figured that was the best explanation he would get out of her. 

"Look," snapped Kate. "It doesn't make a lot of sense to me either, but I'm trying!" She calmed down and continued. "You've got until the 31st, the day of the dead. Do what you came back to do and your soul will be at peace." 

"Simple as that, huh?" Doyle attempted to smile. Though barely a shadow of his old expression, it wasn't entirely unpleasant. 

Kate nodded. "That simple." 


End file.
